GREY

The bell for second period was met with groans by practically the entire class—signaling the end of an unexpected free period that'd felt far too short.

The four of us filed out of the classroom together, Dash and Cody parting ways with me and Brayden as we entered the hallway and headed right for our next class.

"Hey, Brayden?" I turned to him as we strode.

"Yeah?"

"You said you've got Pre-Cal for second period, right?"

He unruffled the set of pages he carried and scanned the topmost sheet. "Yeah," he answered. "Why? What's up?"

"Look, I didn't want to say this in front of the other guys, but...could you tell Mrs. Fegan I might be a little late?"

"Sure thing, dude." He slid an arm across my shoulder. "Everything alright?"

I gulped, looked up at him. "Yeah, I'm fine, just...I need to talk to Coach for a bit." I gulped again. "It's kinda important."

He quirked a brow. "Grey. Seriously, man—what's going on?"

I hesitated. "You know that guy you saw at the principal's office? Jacquarious?"

"...Yeah?"

I sheepishly held up my smartphone. "Well, I may've secretly recorded him playing ball yesterday."

"Huh?" Brayden gaped as we turned a hallway corner. "I thought you guys met him at the hospital?"

"We did, but...we kinda followed him home too."

"Wait, what?"

"Look, it's a long story." I pressed through the lock screen with my thumbprint, then swiped feverishly to access my photos. "But look at this."

I held up the phone, played the video of Jacquarious while Brayden looked on with wide eyes.

"Whoa," he breathed. "That guy's off the charts."

"Yeah, and I thought Coach might wanna see it too. Maybe we could even try to recruit him."

"Definitely worth a shot, but...why you gotta be so cloak and dagger about it?"

I glanced away.

"I mean, like, why'd you wait until Dash and Cody were gone?"

"I guess I just..." I gulped. "...You know how Cody is. If I'd admitted taking a video of some guy we followed home, he'd never let me live it down. And Dash is..."

Brayden stared back at me. "Dash is what, Grey? What's so bad about telling him?"

"He's the captain, and...and I didn't want him to feel like I was stepping on his moment or anything."

"Oh, come on. There's no way he'd think that. We lost like six seniors last year. The fact that our team's captain is a sophomore should tell you something—we need new blood, bro."

I shook my head. "Dash's wanted to be captain ever since we were in middle school. And now that he's finally got his wish, some new guy joins halfway through the year with loads of talent. He'll run circles around us."

Brayden chuckled lightly. "Maybe he'll run circles around you, Grey. But I doubt Dash'll be upset about adding a new star player. Besides, it's not like Coach's gonna up and decide to name some new kid captain just 'cause he can nail a three-pointer."

I glanced off again. "...Maybe you're right."

Brayden's grip tightened around my shoulder. "Don't worry, man. It'll be fine, okay?"

I sighed, gave a slow shrug. "Okay."

"That's the spirit." He smiled. "Now go find Coach—I'll tell Mrs. Fegan you'll be running late."

I nodded, turned to head for the exit to the main building. "Thanks, Brayden. You're the goat."

He shook his head. "Nah, man. That's you."

****

I reached out timidly, knocked on the vertical frame in front of me.

"It's open!" Coach's voice rumbled out from behind the door to his office.

I gripped the sheening gold handle, twisted as I pushed my way inside. I spotted Coach Rangford at his desk, eyes squinting toward his computer screen as he squiggled the mouse along a trackpad and bluelight from the massive monitor bathed his face in a shimmering glow.

I stared around briefly, taking in for probably the millionth time the array of gold trophies scattered along the walls streaked in blue and white. Quarterlies, Regionals, Nationals—they all peppered the shelf that hung as a memorial, a call to action for every Goldengate basketball player who dared to stand before it.

"What can I do you for?" Coach asked, gaze still straight ahead and focus unshaken.

"I um...I wanted to show you something."

He shot a single eye in my direction, an eye that popped wide the moment he saw me. "Grey! I didn't know that was you!" He swiveled his body away from the sprawling monitor display, sliding in his black rolling chair to the edge of his wraparound office desk. "How was your break, bud?"

"Oh," I stammered. "It was...um, it was good. Not long enough though."

He nodded his head with a small grin. "They never are, my man." He folded his arms across one another and leaned forward onto the desk. "So what brings you by? Can't believe you'd wanna skip this early in the day just to visit an old-timer like me."

Old-timer? Guy's like thirty-five. "I was hoping I could...get your opinion on something." I cleared my throat. "It's a video—I took it yesterday."

"Right on, man. Load it up."

I reached inside my pocket and dug out my phone, unlocking the screen with my thumb and holding up the video to show to Coach Rangford.

As the clip rolled, every pixel of Jacquarious's body blitzing across the screen and sinking shots, Coach's mouth literally gaped open, slacked wide with disbelief.

"That...that was...wow," he breathed. "Where'd you say you saw this kid?"

"Well, that's the thing," I said. "As of yesterday, he goes to school here. His name's Jacquarious."

Coach paused, wide eyes narrowing suddenly as a grave scowl shadowed his lips. "Whelan?" he asked.

"Y-yeah," I answered. "Why? Is that bad?"

He sighed. "Nah, it's nothing, just..." He sighed again.

"Coach, what is it?"

Coach Rangford shut his eyes. "Whelan," he mused. "I'm almost certain he's one of those kids from Browning Heights."

I gulped. "H-how'd you know that?"

"They kept him on the bench half the time...but I know that style."

"Wait," I puzzled. "You went to their games? I thought you only checked out the nationally ranked—"

"Browning Heights is solid, kid. Always has been." He opened his eyes. "They're only twenty minutes away, and their coach was okay with it, so I'd watch 'em on the off season." He pointed his index finger at my phone, at the silhouette of Jacquarious paused mid-layup. "That kid, Whelan...whenever they put him in the game, he seemed to never tire out. Always running, always dribbling, always open for a pass."

"Sounds awesome," I offered. "Now that he's at Goldengate...maybe he can play for us?"

"With all our seniors gone, it might be the best thing to ever happen to this team. But—" He drew his lips into a thin line.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just thinking." He narrowed his eyes. "Thinking maybe that kid transferred after everything that happened at regionals last year."

I gulped again. "Coach, come on. You don't seriously think he's—"

"I don't know, Grey." He shook his head. "I don't know." After staring straight into my eyes, something deep and determined streaked across his pupils, he rose to his feet, shuffling out from behind his desk.

"Uh, Coach...where are you g—?"

"There's something I gotta do. I'll be back in time for practice." He strode toward the door, reaching for the handle.

"Hey, wait!" I called, his hand stopping mid-reach. "Can I, um...can I get a hall pass? I don't want Mrs. Fegan getting mad."

"Oh, right," he answered quickly, the weight of gravel that leadened his voice seeming for a moment to flit away as he drifted back toward his desk. "Fegan really would get ticked about somethin' like that." He reached across the keyboard and ripped open one of the filing drawers, retrieving a notepad printed with the words Hall Pass—Admit to Class.

He tore off the topmost slip and scribbled in my name, then dashed his signature across the bottom before handing it to me.

And all the while, I watched as tiny beads of sweat began condensing on either side of his face, as the shadows overhanging his eyes seemed to droop ever further with each passing second, as his calloused hands tremored while he slammed his desk drawer shut and turned to leave.

He clicked off the lights as I followed him out of the office, the ice of his unfaltering trepidation sending chills through the hallway air.